Is it possible to review a Wes Anderson film without using the words “quirky” or “eccentric”? It might be, if only he stopped making movies that fit such a description. Moonrise Kingdomis no exception, but all the better for it.

Situated on an island off the New England coast in a nostalgia laden view of 1965, it tells the story of two runaway children and the attempts of parents (Frances McDormand and Bill Murray), a police officer (Bruce Willis), a Scout troop (led endearingly by Edward Norton) and a Social Worker (Tilda Swinton) to find them.

Many Anderson hallmarks are present. There is a striking colour scheme of burnt orange, browns and sea blue, there are the returning cast members and collaborators (Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman, Roman Coppola), inventive use of the soundtrack, in this case Benjamin Britten’s Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra and a lot of Hank Williams, and the detailed props, including a set of fictitious children’s books complete with cover illustrations. His aesthetic runs consistently from opening to closing credits, which are beautiful in themselves.

There has been some criticism of the lead child actors Jared Gilman (Sam) and Kara Hayward (Suzy) but this is unfair. They are charming and believable as they win over our sympathy in their dogged pursuit of freedom. Of course a pair of twelve year-olds can’t run off, get married and get away with it, but we’re on their side.

In anticipating this release in an earlier post, I was fearful of a film which would be content with a strong visual sense but little else. I’m happy to report that there is humour and, most importantly, real “heart” to Moonrise Kingdom, which side of it could perhaps could have been developed a little more, but nonetheless represents a return to form for a unique voice in contemporary cinema.

Don’t you just love it when a film puts you on the trail of a good book that would otherwise have gone unnoticed? As a sometime Edward Norton fan, I saw The Painted Veilin the cinema when it first came out. I loved its stylish evocation of 1920s China and delicate tragedy but it took me a while to get around to W. Somerset Maugham’s original novel. Inevitably, as with any adaptation, one will be compare against the other (I hear Mookology is a recognised discipline now 😉 ). However, I found the book to be quite a different thing altogether.

Unlike the film, Kitty is very much the dominant focus of the novel as it charts her spiritual awakening. Her betrayed husband Walter, as in the film, offers a contrast in masculinity to her imposing lover Charles, but both men are essentially a means by which Kitty eventually triumphs over her naive shallowness and overcomes the failings passed on to her by a difficult mother. She is selfish, infuriating, never loves her husband and yet, as the story draws to a close she, or rather Maugham, has managed to wring out some sympathy or perhaps empathy; infuriating when she succumbs to the odious Charles for the last time but brave and honest when she is reconciled to her father on her return to London.

What I especially liked was the fluid style which sweeps with deceptive lightness across a vista of colonialism, love, desire, marriage, hypocrisy and the search for meaning.